


burst and decay

by blazeofglory



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Established Relationship, Forbidden Love, Inspired by Game of Thrones, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: Kent Parson is heir to the throne and Jack Zimmermann is a knight sworn to protect him. This was never going to end happily.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr prompted: "arranged marriage; jack has to watch kent marry someone else." This started as just that, and then... it began to grow. 
> 
> This one goes out to Sina for being the best cheerleader and Pimms enthusiast! Sorry I made you cry!
> 
> 11/5/18 edit: this is no longer going to be a 10 chapter fic and I have deleted chapter 3 so the first 2 chapters stand alone as a finished fic! Sorry to everyone who wanted an epic tragedy with magic and death!

_The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again._

 

 

“I never wanted this,” Kent whispers, voice choked with tears. He clings to Jack, like if he holds on tight enough, he’ll never have to let go. They only have a few hours left.

“I know,” Jack says softly, and he holds Kent tightly too. They always knew this would happen someday; Jack just thought they had more time. He thought—sometimes he thought that, somehow, they could find a way out of it. It’s always been a ridiculous fantasy; Kent is the heir to the throne, and it’s been known since his birth that he’ll have to marry and have children. It’s his _duty._ There’s never been space for Jack in this story, and he was foolish to ever think that this could possibly continue past the days of their reckless youth. 

Jack will remain by Kent’s side until the day that he dies—ruling is Kent’s duty and protecting Kent is Jack’s. This moment is not goodbye; not for good. They will see each other later and tomorrow and every day after that. But once Kent swears himself to another, it will not be like this again. They will never again lay in the same bed and they will never kiss again. Kent will never take Jack inside him and Jack will never have the chance to wrap his arms around his lover and, he suspects, they will never feel whole again.

Their affair has been dangerous since the very first day that Jack had reached out for Kent with shaky hands, all those years ago, when Kent had not pulled away, but instead moved closer and kissed Jack under the early morning sun, with only the trees and the gods as their witnesses. It had only gotten more dangerous when they continued back in the castle, where there was always another knight or a chambermaid around every corner.

There have always been dire consequences for getting caught, but only for Jack; Kent would be shamed, surely, but Jack would be the one strung up in the streets. _Now_ , once Kent marries, he cannot be caught straying from his new wife. Jack can handle his own ruin, despite everything—all the hard work, rising through the ranks, fighting to be the _best_ , winning every tourney and earning the pride of his father and the smallfolk—Jack would give it all, gladly, for another moment alone with his love. The only thing he cannot, _will_ not, sacrifice is Kent’s safety.

The danger has grown too terrifying to continue with this and they both know it. 

Jack kisses Kent’s temple and tries not to think that this will be the last time he gets the chance. It’s hard to breathe.

For a while, they lay together in the quiet, the only sound coming from Kent’s sobs muffled against Jack’s chest. With every tear that touches Jack’s skin, his heart cracks a little more. His chest aches so badly, he doesn’t know how he’ll make it through the ceremony without succumbing to the pain and letting himself fall apart. Come nightfall, Jack will don his best armor, though he finds himself doubting that he will be able to stand under the heavy ornate metal when he feels as though every bone in his body is breaking.

Kent needs Jack to be strong, though, so Jack will be strong. 

“Everything is going to be alright,” Jack whispers, and it sounds false even to his own ears. He smooths his hand over Kent’s unruly hair and down his back, committing every perfect inch to memory. “I—I will be beside you forever, they cannot separate us.”

Kent takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily. He sounds defeated when he says, “You will be beside me, but you will be untouchable.”

“Kent—”

“I know,” Kent interrupts suddenly. They have talked this through a thousand times; they both know that there is nothing else to be done. Kent shifts in Jack’s arms, moving up so their faces are next to each other on one pillow. The emerald silk of Kent’s bedsheets, the very same emerald that is the color of the house Parson flag, brings out the green of Kent’s eyes. They’re beautiful, vibrant and bright with tears, lit up by the setting sun— _oh_.

The sun is setting and their time is running out. A servant will be here soon to bathe and dress Kent, and Jack will need to be gone before then. Still, he does not move.

Jack turns onto his side and Kent mirrors him, facing each other fully. Gently, Jack lays a palm on Kent’s freckled cheek, and he stares into those emerald eyes that he loves.

Jack swore that he would not cry, but he is very close to giving in. He blinks away the tears and swallows thickly. There will be time to cry later. 

“Come nightfall, you will have to fuck her,” Jack says, and Kent looks like he’s about to interrupt, so Jack keeps going. “I need—I need you to think of me while you do it. You _need_ to get her with child.”

“Jack…” Kent leans in, kissing him hard before pulling away just as abruptly. The devastated look on his face is one that Jack has not seen since Kent’s mother passed, years ago. “I will close my eyes and pretend that she is you.”

Jack knows that Kent is concerned about his ability to even be aroused in the same bed as a woman, but there is no time to worry about that any longer. He will simply have to try.

The room is awash in orange and they are quickly running out of time.

“I will never touch another,” Jack confesses, voice thick with unshed tears. Ever since the day that Kent smiled at Jack across the courtyard and Jack had first thought about kissing that smile off his face, Jack has known that Kent is the only one for him. There is no pretending that Jack could ever move on. 

“I wish…” Kent starts, but does not finish. Jack knows anyway.

If it were up to Kent, he would never touch another either. If either of them had any say in the matter, they would never leave this bed.

“I love you,” Kent finishes eventually, and Jack knows this already too. Even now, at the end, he still cannot help but smile when he hears those words.

“I love you too,” Jack says, and then he kisses Kent once more. It’s slow and deep, Kent’s mouth soft under his, Kent’s tongue in his mouth, Kent’s quiet moans, and Jack lets himself get lost in the kiss, lost in _Kent Kent Kent_. The kiss is equal parts desperate and mourning. It’s goodbye.

When they part, the room is growing dark for good this time. Slowly, Jack pulls away, stealing last lingering touches to Kent’s hair and the slope of his nose and his jawline and down his arm, and—there is no time. Jack leaves the bed that has been his safe haven for as long as he cares to remember, and Kent begins to cry again.

They are both silent while Jack dresses. On the table, beside Jack’s discarded helm, is Kent’s crown. Jack feels sick just looking at it.

There are footsteps in the hall and Jack needs to be gone. He turns toward Kent, looking at him like this, naked and beautiful in a bed of emerald, for the last time. They look at each other for a long moment; there is love and longing and grief in Kent’s eyes. Jack is sure that his own match.

Jack has to leave, and so he does. Neither of them say another word as Jack pushes open the door and walks away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from _You in January_ by The Wonder Years, which makes this the fourth Pimms fic that I've used their lyrics for! The opening quote is from the movie _Troy_.


	2. Chapter 2

A truly astounding number of lords and ladies flooded into the castle for the wedding, and though it’s been several _long_ days since the ceremony, an overwhelming majority of the guests have continued to linger. Kent, all too aware of how charming and popular his peers find him, is regrettably stuck entertaining a castle full of nobles.

As if Kent is not busy enough, then there’s the matter of his lord father, who’s recently grown fond of lecturing Kent on all of his impending responsibilities for hours at a time, as if Kent has not been raised to rule. He will be ready when the time comes, and that time very well may be coming sooner than anyone had expected.

If Kent’s father were in better health, Kent would be able to easily brush off his concerns, but he is not so cruel as to push away a dying man. They have never been close, and yet… Kent knows that he will mourn. 

Everything has gone downhill faster than Kent can possibly keep up with—his father’s health, the tension with their neighboring kingdoms, and, well, there is also the disaster that is his hasty marriage to a woman that he barely knows. A month ago, Kent’s father had been in good health, the kingdom had been at peace, and Kent… Kent had been with Jack. 

With his father so often abed, Kent attends the council meetings in his place, spending long, tedious hours with the royal advisors, knights, and maesters. Though Kent may be ready to rule, he does not particularly _want_ to. The meetings go on and on and _on_ , and Kent cannot help but think of Jack. It’s difficult not to, really, since Jack is the head of Kent’s personal guard—through every meeting, Jack is standing watch just outside the council room door, always so close by even though he is now completely out of Kent’s reach.

By the time night falls, Kent has no patience left to pretend to want anything at all to do with his new wife. 

Vivian, the new Lady Parson, is… by all accounts, lovely. She is beautiful, kind, courteous, and everything a highborn lady ought to be. If Kent were any other man, he thinks that he could be happy with her. According to all the other lords, he should be overjoyed at having such a pretty young wife, though they all know that Kent never had a choice in their match. It is a _wise_ match, yes, as her family has an army and resources that Kent’s kingdom may soon need, but there is a small group of people that know that a wise match is not the only reason for the marriage either. A handful of people surely know the truth, though no one would dare name it out loud.

Kent bites back a sigh, pretending to still be interested in the report being read to him about farmland in the south, and he very carefully does not let himself stare at the closed door that Jack stands behind. “People whisper,” his father had said when Kent first refused the offer of marriage. He had not yet realized that it was an order. “This castle has a thousand eyes and too many are watching you and your knight.”

 _Fuck the rumors_ , Kent thinks viciously. _Fuck the gossip and the whispers, fuck this castle, fuck my birthright, fuck my new wife._

Gods, Kent’s life would be easier if he actually _could_ fuck his new wife.

When the meeting of the small council finally comes to an end, Kent dismisses the lot of them, but he stays inside the room, seated at his father’s place of honor at the head of the table. After a moment, the heavy oak door opens once again, and Jack steps inside. 

“My lord,” Jack says, formal and detached in a way that Kent has never quite been able to achieve. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, and perhaps that’s what’s gotten them into this mess. 

“Jack,” Kent replies softly with a tired, brittle smile. Jack stands by the door, posture perfect, every inch the knight, and Kent cannot take the distance any longer; he rises from the table and moves closer. Kent is no fool—he leaves a respectable amount of space between them now, despite his yearning. They may be alone, but there is a window in the council room that overlooks a courtyard, and anyone could be watching. They should not be alone together at _all_ , not when they are hoping the rumors will be forgotten, but Kent _needs_ this, needs _Jack_.

Kent’s chest has been tight for days now, unable to even _breathe_ without Jack.

Their last day together, tangled in sheets and sunlight and each other, feels a world away from this cold room where they cannot touch each other. It feels like a lifetime ago.

When Jack removes his helm, it takes everything Kent has not to run his fingers through that mess of dark hair.

“Is everything alright?” Jack asks, and he is _trying_ to keep this impersonal, Kent knows, but he cannot hide the concern in his voice nor the pain in those blue eyes. A small, twisted part of Kent is pleased that he is not the only one hurting. Their pain is shared, yet they must bear it alone.

Kent takes a small step forward and drops his voice when he whispers his shameful confession, “I did not do it.”

Jack’s brow furrows in confusion and Kent carries on, his words picking up speed as his anxiety and agitation rise, “I _could_ not. I—I tried, Jack, I swear I did, and I thought of you, but—she was _crying,_ and I just—”

“It’s alright,” Jack responds, cutting Kent off before he can let himself say anything too pathetic like the _I love you, my heart beats only for you, and I will never learn to love her_ that’s on the tip of his tongue. Jack’s tone is is firm, but there is a gentleness underneath, reminiscent of the three dreamlike days they had practiced swordplay by the river several summers past, when Kent’s mother still lived and Jack was not yet a knight. Kent had long since proved that he can more than hold his own in the tourneys, but he was useless against Jack those afternoons, too distracted by his broad shoulders in that sweat-slicked shirt sticking to his skin and the way his hair had fallen in his sky-blue eyes and his triumphant, blinding smile when he disarmed Kent each time and claimed a kiss as a prize. His words now are an echo of a happier time when he says, “You can try again.”

“I _have_ ,” Kent admits in defeat. He is so _tired_ , from the visiting nobles and the council and his father and his failure to consummate his marriage, and all he wants is to be in Jack’s arms.

Standing in full armor, just out of arm’s reach, this man is a far cry from the boy that kissed Kent by a river and picked him a wildflower bouquet. Kent has to clench his fists, take a deep breath, and look away from Jack, lest he start to cry again. He swore to himself, after crying himself dry in his lover’s embrace, that he would not shed a tear again.

There is nothing that can be said that would make this bearable, and they both know that all too well. There is no way out of this, but _gods_ , had they tried to find one. Kent has never resented being the only son of a royal family more than has in these past months.

“We should have run when we could,” he whispers.

Jack takes a half-step closer, then abruptly turns to stare out over the courtyard. After a moment, he steps back, further from Kent once more. One step forward and another back, a dance that Kent is sure they will be doing for years to come.

Kent wants to _scream_.

“We never would have made it,” Jack replies quietly, despondent. His hands are clenched around the helm in his hands, a white-knuckled grip. Kent wonders if that grip is the only thing keeping Jack’s hands from reaching out for Kent. “Even in the East, they would have found us eventually.”

They had spent one long afternoon planning their escape, only a few weeks ago. There are a hundreds reasons it would not work—Kent should not abandon his kingdom and his dying father, Jack should not give up the knighthood that he had always dreamed of and worked so hard to achieve, and the simple fact that they would never make it past the borders of their land without being stopped. If they could make it to the sea and board a ship headed East, they could be free, but—Kent and Jack are well-known in their own rights, and _together_ , there are few people in the land that would not recognize Lord Parson and Ser Zimmermann. They would never make it all the way to the sea.

Still, Kent wishes that they had tried instead of giving up without a fight. Kent has never been good at losing to anyone but Jack, and forfeit leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Can we do this forever?” Kent asks. “How long can we pretend that we do not l—”

“ _Kent_ ,” Jack interrupts hastily. This entire conversation has been incriminating, but the word _love_ is still too dangerous to say, and Jack is doing his duty to keep Kent safe, even from himself.

“We will pretend until the day we die,” Jack whispers, and Kent’s heart breaks all over again. “It is the only way.”

Kent turns away from Jack, stepping around the long table and over to the windows. When he looks down, he does not see anything but a single cat roaming across the cobblestone. Still, he draws the heavy curtain, and within seconds, the room is bathed in darkness.

Kent is all too aware that anyone could have looked out their window and seen him draw the curtain, and there are doubtlessly people in the hallway walking past this door with no locks, and—he is too tired to care. _Fuck all the eyes in this castle._ He does not have to wait by the window long before Jack is by his side once more.

Jack sets his helm on the table and reaches for Kent’s hand—one of them is shaking and Kent does not bother trying to figure out who. Perhaps they both are.

“One last kiss,” Kent whispers. Shrouded in shadow, Jack is still more beautiful than any woman could ever be, and Kent does not know how to stop wanting this. He suspects he never will.

They should have tried to go East when they could. Kent can just imagine it, he and Jack draped in brightly colored silks in a foreign market, learning the language and the people and finding work when they can and coming home to one another every night. In some other world, in some other life, there is nothing to stop them from having a thousand more kisses.

“The last one,” Jack agrees, because this is the only world and the only life that they have, and this is how it must go.

Kent finally slides his fingers through Jack’s ruffled hair, and Jack’s hands settle on Kent’s waist, and they both lean in, as inevitable and terrible as every sad story that Kent has ever heard. 

Every kiss that Kent has shared with Vivian since their wedding night pales in comparison to kissing Jack. Being with Jack is—it’s heady and powerful and all-consuming, under the force of that much focused attention. Jack is big and _strong_ and he can envelop Kent completely, and the way that he holds Kent’s face makes him feel safer than he ever does when surrounded by his entire household guard.

 _The last one_ , Jack’s words echo in Kent’s head as he licks his way into Jack’s mouth. He tries to banish the thoughts, tries to enjoy Jack’s soft lips, tries to communicate all his fears and loves and shattered dreams without saying a word. Still, he remembers his father’s words, _A thousand eyes on you and your knight._

It’s Jack who pulls away, though his hands are slower to leave Kent’s cheeks, reluctant to end this moment that they never should have begun at all. When he fully lets go, Kent immediately feels the chill of the room that Jack’s warmth had been keeping at bay. They are still standing so close, sharing breath—Kent can finally _breathe_ again—and though Kent wants to cry, he still does not. He wonders, fleetingly, if Jack has shed a tear over this, or if Kent has been the only one.

Kent wants to stop thinking; he wants to kiss Jack again and he never wants to stop. If he must die, let it be now, let it be death by drowning in the crashing waves of Jack’s love, let this moment never end, let him be dragged deep into the sea and never surface.

Jack is looking at him, his blue eyes dimmed in the darkness, something tragic written on his face that Kent cannot bear to look at. _Just one last kiss, he will never let this happen another time_ , Kent thinks, and kisses Jack again before Jack has the good sense to step away and don his helm once more.


End file.
